Putting the Pieces Together
by Praetor of Rome
Summary: A son of Apollo and a son of Hephaestus caught in two wars and forced to step up to the plate - but when everything is falling apart, is there even hope for anything to go right? Drabble/one-shot. Written for PJO Ship Weeks.


**Here is my early Free Slash Week story! Yes, it's short, and yes, I pretty much started it a half hour ago. But I really wanted to put something up before I left, and I spent ages agonizing over what ship to do for this week. The result is a last minute fic. Oops. (However, all that wishy washy-ness has given me a rough outline for a Nico/Mitchell multichap, so that's something to look forward to). And I've rambled long enough - enjoy!**

* * *

"We didn't go looking for trouble," Jake reminded him, clenching his hands on the balcony rail.

"Kronos will pay." The blonde Apollo boy glared out at the beautiful view below, as if daring someone to challenge him. "Michael didn't deserve to die."

"None of us deserved to die." He took a careful step closer, not wanting Will to lash out.

"Kayla's…gods, I don't ever want to see that look on her face again. They were so close, those two."

"I know."

A wind stirred the branches of the trees below them. The sun was creeping closer to the horizon.

"We're falling to pieces, aren't we?" Will rubbed his eyes. "Gods, I don't want to say anything in front of the others. Or anybody who's injured. But by Hades, it's gotten bad. I don't know if we can pull ourselves together in time."

That might be the right time to throw out some optimistic comments about how they would make it through the war and beat Kronos and all that jazz. But Jake couldn't bring himself to say it – words he wasn't even sure he believed anymore.

"Your cabin looks up to you, you know," he said finally.

"Gee, thanks."

Jake smacked his hand into the railing. "I wasn't being sarcastic or rude or – goddamn it Will, you heal people and they've never needed healing more than now!" Even Jake was surprised at the rush of words. Will stared at him for a moment before his shoulders slumped.

"Not that kind of healing," he muttered.

But Jake heard the real question – _who's supposed to heal me? _Will had kept a calm, roughly positive, self-assured attitude in front of his other siblings that day. Jake understood – being counselor changes you, suddenly you have to think of others first. You're not exactly one of them anymore.

"You've got me," Jake said anyways, and their eyes met briefly. Before he knew it, Will's hand was wrapped around his, squeezing almost too tightly for comfort.

* * *

"Romans now, huh?" Will dropped his quiver on one of the workspace's near Jake's.

"It appears so," he groaned, tapping the block of metal in front of him.

"After all that time you guys spent on that warship…" Will shook his head in disbelief. "They must be idiots to march on us when we've got bigger threats to deal with."

"They're Roman. They're a bit more into the whole 'attack first, apologize later' thing."

Jake finally looked up at Will, who shifted from foot to foot.

"What?" he asked, setting down his hammer.

"We fought one war, barely made it out alive. Now we're being thrown on the chopping block again."

Jake raised his eyebrows. "Where are you going with this now?"

"Just…I meant to ask, I wanted to ask after Manhattan, but it didn't feel right, and I…" Will traced an indentation on one of the tables.

Jake's heart was pounding so loud he was pretty sure Will could hear it.

"If everything's going to pieces again, well… will you at least go to the fireworks with me?"

Jake exhaled, but his heart didn't stop racing.

"Say something, man." Will kept studying the table.

Jake crossed his arms, leaning against his workspace.

"I'm not sure whether to be ecstatic that you asked or annoyed that you beat me to it," he said.

Will's face slowly broke into a wide smile. "Is that a yes?"

"Yes it's a yes!" Jake rolled his eyes. "And did you really think I'd say anything else? After months of…well, I thought you could catch a hint."  
The son of Apollo ran his fingers through his air, grinning. "Maybe it takes a crisis to bring two people together."

"Enough poetry, Solace. I'm busy. Come back later."

"Gotcha."


End file.
